


Transatlantic

by dafna



Category: A Bit of Fry and Laurie RPF, British Comedian RPF
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:Peak in Darien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-24
Updated: 2007-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafna/pseuds/dafna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's the gift of the fucking Magi, that's what it is."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transatlantic

**Author's Note:**

> For my darling Peak, whose contributions to the field of Fry/Laurie are legion. Inspired by the incredibly slashy Stephen Fry birthday special, "50 Not Out". Thanks to Jae Gecko for the quick beta.

"It's the gift of the fucking Magi, that's what it is."

"What? Stephen, I can't hear you at all." Hugh Laurie shifted his iPhone (it had arrived in a purple box, with a note that said, "for fuck's sake, Hugh, join the 21st century") from one ear to the other and continued to make his way through the crowded airport.

"Where are you?" Stephen had downshifted from bitter into curious, though the top note of 'jolly well annoyed' remained intact.

"You know where I am, I'm here," Hugh paused just inside the door, checking for cameras. He yanked his baseball cap even further down his head and headed for the taxi rank, hoisting his backpack ("it has a solar panel that charges your mobile as you go, it's marvelous") over one shoulder.

"In fact," Hugh said, "I'm queuing for a taxi outside Terminal 1 as we speak. It's all very 'Love Actually,' really, except without Liam Neeson." He coughed into the cold air and gratefully handed off his luggage to the driver. Encased in a bit more warmth, he turned his attention back to the phone, where his oldest friend seemed to have moved on a few pages.

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'bollocks,'" said Stephen. "Damn it all and their sister Sue."

"Oh," said Hugh, "well, you can tell me all about it tonight, can't you?" He looked at his watch (Swiss, of course, "not that that really matters anymore ... still") - he had made decent time really, and with a bit of luck, he should be in town by ... he paused as he realized that Stephen was sighing deeply.

Stephen cleared his throat. "OK, old chap, once more from the beginning -- _you_ may be in London, but _I_ am not," he said, his voice growing louder, " _I_ am in bloody West Virginia!"

"Oh bollocks," said Hugh.

"Indeed," said Stephen. "The whole idea was for us to be on the same bloody continent for more than a week at a time, and then your writers had to go walkabout while I'm stuck over here doing the de Tocqueville thing for at least another month."

"Serves you right," said Hugh. "Why can't you just go on holiday like a normal person?"

"Dammit, Hugh -- oh Christ, you're using the iPhone, aren't you?" There was a click as Stephen abruptly hung up.

Hugh moved the phone from his ear and looked at it, puzzled. Stephen had given him the iPhone -- had in fact given him pretty much every piece of technology he owned. DVD players and phones tended to arrive abruptly in twos or threes, sometimes sent by the housekeeper in Norfolk, sometimes shipped directly from wherever Stephen had been abusing his black card.

His backpack rang.

Hugh looked at the iPhone again, then cautiously opened up his backpack and poked around for whatever it was that was ringing like a ringing thing. His quarry, once found, proved to be a small yellow phone that he was sure he had never seen before.

"Hello?" he said cautiously.

"Oh good!" Stephen said. "I told Michael to make sure you got this phone -- you can't use the iPhone in the UK, darling -- even you don't make enough money yet to afford the charges. I got you the newest Nokia -- it has a ..."

Hugh had stopped listening, and was instead trying to think of how Michael Sheen had possibly managed to slip a phone into his backpack whilst they were having lunch the other day. They had talked about their children, absentee parenting, Peter Morgan's next play, American agents and what the hell Emma had been wearing when she did the interview for Stephen's 50th birthday special. This had led, as it inevitably did whenever he saw Michael lately, to a discussion of Alan Davies, who Michael seemed to feel was some sort of cheaper knockoff of his own moptop self.

"They're sleeping together, aren't they?" Michael stirred his drink swiftly, not quite looking Hugh in the eye as he asked.

Hugh, as he always did when asked about Stephen's sex life, offered a noncommittal shrug.

Michael looked at him, narrowly. "I mean, you'd know, right? That time we went away together just after 'Wilde', he called you four times in 3 days."

"Did he?" asked Hugh, his face blank. "I don't recall."

Stephen had quoted even more Auden than usual, and then a week later, sent him a PalmPilot with a handwritten note on it: "Back with Daniel. Stop worrying. Stephen."

"Hugh? Hugh, have you stopped listening to me? Hugh!"

Hugh blinked, looked out at the M4 whizzing past and remembered where he was.

"Sorry, sorry. Right. Michael Sheen. Stealth phone giving. (That's a new one, isn't it?) Something about AT&T's rate structure."

"10 points to Selwyn College," Stephen said, irritated.

"Well, I was thinking about what Michael said about your friend Mr. Davies. Naturally, I got distracted."

Hugh watched a few more cars go by.

"Long pause," said Stephen, dryly.

"What was it he said?" Hugh asked. He was enjoying himself more than a little. "That you and he were 'the most homoerotic thing on television', was it?"

"Yes, well, Alan's never seen 'House,'" Stephen snapped back.

"Oh very nice," Hugh said. "See if I let you watch."

Stephen laughed.

"The show! I meant the show! Oh for god's sake, Stephen."

Hugh held his new (UK-only, apparently) phone away from his ear as Stephen kept laughing.

"When you're quite done."

"Sorry," said Stephen, not quite done laughing, but sounding more in control. "Sorry darling. I do adore you, you know."

"Hmph," said Hugh.

"Yes, well, anyway. Four more weeks before I'm back in dear old Blighty. Feel free to make the time go faster with rude phone calls. I sent Jo a new Skype headset, it's wireless."

"Of course it is," said Hugh, a fond smile on his face. "Don't ever change."

"Oh pish," said Stephen.

**Author's Note:**

> Original comments on this story can be found [here](http://www.yuletidetreasure.org/archive/51/transatlantic_cmt.html).


End file.
